


A Meeting of Uncertainty

by lovelyskies



Series: You're my Medicine [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hospital, Injury, Sex, explicit - Freeform, hello i love girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9220982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyskies/pseuds/lovelyskies
Summary: When an injured solider and a doctor meet, their varying lifestyles clash in a whirlwind of insults and blood spatters. However, deep into the night, emotions flare as their weaknesses are given light. Both parties find comfort in the other's faults and past mistakes. They soon find out they are much more alike than previously assumed.





	

_Oy! We got a lively one_ _ov_ _er here!_  

A group of uniformed men rush into the medical tent hauling a well-worn stretcher. A typical sight. What is laying on top is, unsurprisingly, an injured solider, with blood dripping out of her deep wounds. What is surprising, however, is what she is shouting about - it isn't about the pain, rather, getting out of the cage that currently entraps her from the battle outside like a serpent. 

" _Agh_! Let me go, dammit!" she screams, resisting every constraint. "I can still fight!"  

Some of the other patients look up, the others are woken. In reality, it would only take two or three men to transport her from the battlefield once her gear was removed. The rest is simply to keep her down. But, it did make a quite the scene, though. 

"Pring her on offer," Mercy, witnessing a scene all too familiar, casually walks over to the next empty vestibule. She pulls a chart sitting at the edge of the bed and begins to take notes:  _Three wounds. Major bleeding._  

 _Slam!_ The men let go of her abruptly, causing her to crash onto the rusty hospital bed. A few of the helpers move her (with major difficulties, that is to say) from the stretcher's constraints to that of the bed. " _Shit!_ Are you _trying_ to kill me?!" She screams out from the agonizing pain pulsating in every inch of her body. Regardless, she still wants to be ridden of the burden of 'healing.' 

The German nurse saunters over and presses two fingers against her patient's bruised wrist, taking her braising pulse. "Chust the obozite Miss's...?" After half a minute or so, she removes her fingers and records the results. 

"That's _lieutenant_ to you - I don't deal with that _Miss_ bullshit," she spits.  

The men, out-of-breath, wrap the constraints around her hands, pulling them down to her sides. She attempts to pull back but to no avail. Her hands are knocked back into place like a stretched rubber band. Still, she continues to resist in every way she finds remotely possible.  

"Alright zen." The doctor scratches something written off on her sheet. "Lieutenant...?" 

"Just put down Pharah so this can be over wit – _AGH! What the hell?!"_ The men tighten the loose, perhaps _too_ securely. (An attempt to payback her difficulties, most likely). To everyone's relief, the patient can now only twist her hands in place. 

The other nurses, all too worn out, take a step back and are finally able to catch their scattered breath. One asks while wiping his brow, _"_ Wanna tie her legs up too, Merc?" 

"Don't vorry," she replies, "zis bup is all park and nein pite."  

The teasing peeves the already agitated caged animal. _Pup_ _, huh? I'll show you a goddamn bitch!_ A look of disgust paints over her expression. Her nose wrinkles as she sets her head back on the pillow and...  

The entire room gasps with shock. Then, silence. Despite it being a restoration camp for the injured, it is as quiet as a church during prayer hour.  

Pharah had spat _directly_ onto the doctor's face. The spit gradually drips from her rosy cheek, onto her shoes, and lands loosely upon the vinyl floor.  

Everyone focuses on Mercy. Yet, to everyone's surprise, she stands still - expressionless.  

Within time, she slowly raises her hand, and swiftly swipes the liquid off of her cheek. The _splat_ echoes throughout the hushed room. 

"...Giffe me zat." She grabs the constraints from the man's hand and ties each leg. "Next time it vill be ein muzzle." For the first time since her patient's arrival, she looks into Pharah's deep, sleek iris. Although her gaze is normally forgiving and kind, she stares like a hawk would its trembling prey. " _Yeah_?"  

The solider cackles, "Wouldn't _dream_ of it." She is too focused on Mercy to notice a nurse giving her an IV of morphine in her left arm. "What are you-?" The energy she once had seemingly escapes, leaving her numb and weary. The room begins to spin, voices begin to distort, her eyes begin to droop. "... _d_ _oing_?" she slurs out. 

"Vell, in zat caze, haffe ein bleazant dream,  _Miss_ Pharah," she chuckles. It seems two can win at this game.  

The last thing Pharah is able to make out is the grin of the doctor looming above her. " _Damn you_ ," she  swears before being knocked out like a lightbulb.  

* * *

 

It's deep into in the middle of the night. Lights grow dim. Most candles have been blown out. The camp and its occupants, for the first time that day, takes pause from the bustle of the war erupting outside. The only sounds are the drips of IVs and the occasional moan coming from a patient.  

 _Click, click, click._  

A change in auditory. Mercy strolls through the hall with her clipboard seemingly attached to her side. In the other hand is a lantern guiding through the desolate hallway. Her shoes clink against the floor like a toasting of champagne. She writes down the current state of the ill. 

She peeks through each curtain.  

 _Patient #35. Asleep._  

 _Patient #36. Passed out like a drunkard._  

 _Patient #37 - ?_  

Her feet come to a sudden stop. The continuous pattern of footsteps seize.  

Something mummers inside of the closed screen. Her words on the clipboard become fuzzy, no longer the center of the doctor's attention. She looks up and glances over.  

Something isn't right.  

She pulls away the fabric shielding the room and looks upon her most troublesome subject. It seems she is suffering from restlessness.  

 _"It should have been me, not you."_ Pharah stirs in her slumber. " _It should have been me."_  

Mercy sets her clipboard down and slowly makes way toward the woman. It's strange to see her without her armor and, in place, a thin nightgown. She almost looks... _human._  

Pharah churns, groaning in what seems like a terrible nightmare. I _t is a nightmare? Or is_ _it a_ _recollection of some sort_ _?_ Her eyes squint as she attempts to toss and turn. Her body is trapped - the only thing she can move is her head.  

Mercy places the back of her hand on Pharah's bruised cheek – cold. Her skin is as cold and lifeless as a corpse.  

With the presence of human touch, the moaning stops. Breathes begin to stabilize, muscles begin to relax. The injured solider takes comfort in the arms of the doctor.  

Mercy then cups her leaning head in her own hand. She strokes some of her face with her thumb.  

 _"Mother, is that you?"_ The woman murmurs softly.  

Mercy stops. Her eyebrows raise a few notches.  

" _I'm sorry, Mom – so, so, sorry."_  

She jerks her hand back as if she had touched a burning stovetop.   

 _Mph?!_ Pharah, in the flip of a switch, is abruptly woken up from her intoxicating vision. It is as if a flashlight was shun into her eyes for she is wide awake in a matter of a few frightening seconds. The pain medication, however, hasn't ran its course just yet. As a result, things still seem a bit fuzzy.  

She lifts her head off the pillow and strains herself to get a good look around the room. Her hands ball into a tight fist, preparing for whatever or whomever disturbed her. "Who's there?" she booms. With what little light aluminates in the room, she is able to make out a glowing, shadowy blur standing outside the chamber. "I know you're out there. Come out and face me like a _woman!_ " 

Mercy stands outside the leeway, clutching a fistful of the curtain shadowing the bed and its occupant. She holds her breath, carefully listening in.  

Moments pass by without a single word being exchanged.  

Then, Mercy sighs. She couldn't believe what she was about to do. But, then again, she is caught. What _could_ she do? 

She turns back and opens the curtain. "Tell me," she implores, "vat happened out zere?" She takes a step and closes back the screen.  

" _You_ again?" Pharah rests her head once more. " _Shit_ , I've seen enough of you for one day -" 

"Ansver me: vat happened out zere?" She persists, taking seat on the side of the bed.   

" _What happened?_ What the hell do you mean 'what happened?' I nearly got myself killed _that's_ what happened-!" 

"Nein, vith your mother."  

A pause. Pharah remains silent.  

"I couldn't help put offerhear your dream." 

"Mind your own damn business," she hisses, turning her head away. 

"You are hurting, in more vays zan one – zat I can tell," she mutters, placing her hand on her check once more.  

Her voice is so sweet, so calming. It's... _unusual_ to say the least. Pharah hasn't heard such a caring voice in so long - it almost reminds her of someone dear to her heart. Someone she hadn't forgotten.  

Pharah turns her head. Instead of staring aimlessly into her eyes, her gaze meets with Mercy's lips. A wave of serenity washes over her. Suddenly, the constraints don't feel as tight, her pain not as distressing. Mercy feels this too. Someone or something brought them together. It's fate they would met like this – alone, with their emotions laying bare.  

Without either member aware, they come close to one another until their lips gently press together. Mercy's are soft, like a warm blanket coating a chilly body with warmth and affection. In contrast, Pharah's are cracked and bloody from the accommodations and weather plunging outside. The two unlikely forces collide uneasily and sloppy, wary not to cause any discomfort to the other partner.  

Mercy slides her warm hands upon the other's rigid face, caressing her tired skin. Before she knows it, she's on top of her impassioned patient, craving her body, avid to get a taste.  

When the woman's knees spread across Pharah's body, the partner lets out a small wail. The pressure afflicts a throb similar to a heartbeat below her chest. Mercy sneaks her tongue into the other party's mouth, ceasing the opportunity. The suffering that once overwhelmed Pharah is masked by the doctor's tenderness. Her own form of healing.  

 _Mmh_ _!_ Pharah grumbles, gliding her head to the side. Being tied like a pig is _tormenting –_ she lusts for touch.  

Mercy, drowning in the succulent sensations, takes notice of her partner's discomfort. She slowly retracts her tongue, with the shared drool dribbling on Pharah's gown. "Zomething the matder?" She entices, circling the tattoo next to her eye.  

"Untie me," she huffs, "Now."  

"Oh?" She bends back, continuing the turmoil. "I zuboze you _are_ ein lieudenant..." She rips off the constraint wrapped around her left without ever losing eye contact. Then, the right. She turns to her back to untie the left leg, humming a quiet tune while doing so. Pharah remains hauntingly still, awestruck by the doctor's beauty. It had to be sinful to be that _perfect_ _,_ that _divine_. "Zere, you're free nov-" she begins.  

Pharah interrupts, lunging at Mercy – forgetting about her agonizing injuries. She shoves the woman down on the creaky bed, burrowing her hands into her luscious hair, pulling down and thrusting herself on the woman.  

It is now Mercy's turn to feel helpless under the control of Pharah. The ferrous predator greedily stakes claim on her price. She bites into her lips like a caramelized apple, sulking the plumpness of the red skin. Pharah grinds her hip into Mercy's. The bottom gripes the above's driving pelvis and whines uncontrollably, not caring who overheard them. This is gratifying to the other partner – to think her colleagues held the doctor on a pedestal, yet there she was, _below_ her, under _her_ commands.  

It's time to up the ante. She decides to change things up a bit by mummering, " _Your_ turn," signaling what's to come. 

 _"Hmm?"_ Mercy manages to deplore between winded puffs. Before she understands what is occurring, her hands are pulled apart from one another and stretched above her head. _Click!_ The leather belt wraps around her right forehand and latches upon the bedside. _"Vat are you-?!"_ But it's too late, both arms are fastened where Pharah's legs had just been.  

"Hush. Or next time, it'll be a muzzle."  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, you could probably tell this is my first time writing with a german accent so I probably butchered it :) (there's no probably about it quite honestlt) but yeah hope you had fun with the lesbians (i know i did) !!  
> I cut this b/c it was getting wayy to long so I should pick it up at some later time. 
> 
> Oh good news! Commissions are officially open~  
> Now all your fantasies can become reality! (i'm sorry that was too cheesy)  
> See my profile page for more info! 
> 
> Love ya!


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